Taking Care of the Family
by lovergirl85
Summary: Part 6. Everyone is sick and Bruce may have bitten off more than he can chew.


Bruce really wanted someone to escape from Arkham. Possibly the Joker. Someone who could cause a lot of mayhem and would take up a lot of time _away _from the manor. Because really, anything they could cause had to be better than what he was dealing with _at_ the manor.

"I had to have done something to deserve this," Bruce muttered, as he left Stephanie's room. He'd been treated to bright smiles, smart remarks and a slight undercurrent of bitterness. He had steered clear of Jason's room, not wanting him to run, at least not while he was still sick – he wasn't that much of a sadist. Alfred had sent him a slightly disapproving look, but took up Jason's room, as well as Damian's and Tim's, leaving Bruce to take care of Stephanie and Dick.

"Well, Master Bruce, I believe taking away one of the caretakers may have had something to do with it," Alfred told him as he exited Jason's room. Bruce craned his neck a bit for a glimpse of the wayward Robin and saw Jason sitting up in bed, scowling at nothing. Ever since Bruce's arrival, Alfred informed, Jason had gone quiet, where before he would be loud, obscene and cracking jokes. Not in so many words, but enough that Bruce heard the underlying "Go _deal_ with it." The same thing had happened with Stephanie, but not nearly as bad.

Instead, he veered towards Damian's room to check on him. When he entered, Damian sat up slightly at attention and Bruce sighed inwardly. For some reason, Damian couldn't get it through his head that he didn't need to be formal with Bruce. Show him respect, yes, but he didn't have to come to attention every time he entered the room

"You can relax, Damian," Bruce told him, crossing the room. Something flashed through Damian's eyes, but was gone before Bruce could place it. He sat down on Damian's bed and placed a hand on his forehead, pretending not to notice when Damian leaned imperceptibly into his touch. "How do you feel?"

"My throat hurts," Damian admitted, however reluctantly. He must've figured Bruce would get it from Alfred anyway. Bruce made a humming noise in the back of his throat. There was no reason for Damian to have stayed sick this long. He should be almost over it. Instead, he was past the worst of it, but still sick enough to be confined to bed.

Bruce slid his hand from the forehead to the cheek, allowing his thumb to rub over Damian's cheek a little bit. Damian's eyes were shutting just a little bit and Bruce made a mental note to be a little more free with affectionate gestures. Damian may prefer to work with Dick, but he still wanted Bruce's approval.

"You feel warm," Bruce told him, copying what his mother had done with him when he was sick, allowing his hands to feel different parts of his face to gauge his temperature. Bruce wasn't really gleaning anything from it, he wasn't Alfred, after all, but Damian obviously enjoyed the contact. "If this keeps up, I may have to call Dr. Thompkins."

Damian didn't say anything, only nodded, his eyes completely closed now. Bruce smiled and took the opportunity to reach around Damian under his covers and pull out the knife.

"And we have a rule about keeping knives in the rooms when we're sick," he told Damian. Damian's eyes snapped open and he scowled, opening his mouth to say something, but Bruce kept talking. "You're getting better. It took me almost five minutes to find this one." Damian flushed, but it was with pride and Bruce allowed himself to smooth back his hair before standing.

"Lie down and rest, Damian," he told him. "But first, I'll take the other knives." Damian looked as though he was going to resist, but then he sighed and pulled out two more knives. "All of them." Another three. "Damian." Five more appeared.

"How come he gets weapons?" Jason called out, apparently having been listening to the conversation.

"He doesn't," Bruce called back. "Damian, the rest of them." Another three. "Now." He pulled the last two out and Bruce nodded, satisfied, gathering the sixteen knives in his arms as safely as he could and headed for the door, before turning back. "I almost forgot. How about the one strapped to your ankle." It wasn't a question and Damian huffed, handing over the very last one.

"I am feeling _much_ better," Tim said loudly from his room. "I think there's some research that needs to be done-"

"Tim, lie down," Bruce ordered.

"But-"

"Now. Damian will stay out of your room, with or without knives." Tim grumbled under his breath.

"Aw, cheer up, Baby Bird. I'll protect you."

"Jason. _Shut up_."

"Something the matter, Timbo?" Tim muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "you." Jason let out a bark of laughter.

"Isn't that the reason we're here, though? Us emotionally unstable kids? To make nice with the family?" This time Stephanie spoke up.

"Great. I'm emotionally stable. Why am _I_ here?"She sounded annoyed.

"Steph, you're part of the family," Dick chimed in quickly. There was a rather unladylike snort from her bedroom.

"Am I? I had _no_ idea."

"There's no need to get snarky."

"Oh, there is _every_ need to get snarky." The argument was interrupted by Alfred clearing his throat loudly. Bruce's sanity silently thanked him.

"Young masters and miss, I feel at this point in time, it would be prudent for you all to lay down, rest and take some time to calm yourselves before words are said that cannot be taken back. Master Bruce, I believe after that you know what you need to do."

Bruce had no idea, but he nodded anyway.

**BMBMBMBM**

Total knife count: 16

And this is the therapy section.

And I don't own Batman.

Feel free to put something down you'd like to see.


End file.
